This tiny Ringer in the Heavens
Is but a Larum for the Gods.
As long as Right keeps Rite unerrant
Its Station compliment to us.
But should the Wardens ever wander
And loose the Chains or lose the Keys,
That which the Light imprisoned yonder
Upon its Chance at once shall seize.
The Bell, convulsing in mute Panic,
Annoys the Heavens to annoint
Some better Champions to manage
Our Failure in the Counterpoint.
They may as well restore the Order
As end Duress upon a Peal,
Put out the Gate this mighty Boarder
The Lords have sought to keep at Heel.
Yet let them not be Cockscomb-proud
Of Strength that cleaves to Greed and Lust!
Beware the Scepter and the Crown
That grind Eternity to Dust.